The scandal threaten to end them. When Ken caught Barbie with Jem it seemed the group was doomed. How could a top selling, multiplatinum, award winning band go on like this? The answer was to rebuild and redesigned. Gone would be Ken's dreamy looks but weak vocals. Gone would be Stretch's dance moves but lack of personality. The new group would be legendary.

Barbie and Jem would lead the vocals. Their new found love defining a new wave of loyalty, love and lyrics. Ken had always tried to dampen Barbie's appeal. Trying to play off the fan loyalty for her as a joke, something that wasn't true. The band was his idea, the spotlight his and therefore the fans were his too. But now it will be Barbie's band. Barbie's group and therefore Barbie's fans. With Jem and Barbie in place the rest of the lineup had to be strong. Joining them would be Joe. The rugged, mysterious, muscular Joe. Moms would swoon him. Dads would honor him He would even double as band security.

With the tension of love between the two leads and Joes rugged looks the band was still lacking a fun, charismatic element. Enter P. Head. The fun-loving, rhyme spitting chameleon added that spark of surprise. Constantly changing faces, hats, styles P.Head will give propel the fun Ken sucked out. Wrapping up this group of music misfits is the wild card: Shortcake. Would her little sister meets adoring diva uniqueness hurt or help the band? Shortcake has fought back from her personal demons for the right to be back on the stage. In front of the lights. Will it be magic?

So there you have it. Barbie, Jem, Joe, P. Head and Shortcake. TOY BAND.

Drugs, sex and rock and roll. Well minus the sex, and huh, drugs that is. But everything else was a go! As in go for it! And Vonard was going for it He was born to be a rock and roller, having beat the drums since he was a little kid. His dad was once part of a pop rock band back in the old days. Way before he was born. Waaay before he’d even met his wife, who became his mother. Times were different then. Music sorta corny, Vonard thought. But he liked to listen to his dad talk about how much fun being in that band was. He told him all about Woodstock in ’69. He left out the parts about the drugs and sex, of course. Vonard learned about them anyway. Well, he figured that at least made him almost rock and roll royalty. Didn’t it? So he set out to put his own boy band together. All he needed were some boy banders. He rounded up a few friends from the neighborhood and got cracking! They had some old instruments, drums, which belonged to his dad. A slightly bent horn, a sax, he figured and a busted guitar. They were gonna rock! Ok, let’s roll, he hollered. And that first cord struck so hard it nearly deafened him. And unfortunately his next door neighbor too... Blam! Bam! It made an awful sound, he had to admit. The lady complained again and again. She threatened to call the police on them if the noise didn’t stop. Imagine? Noise. The guys were kinda tired, Vonard a bit distressed. His parents very relieved. Not defeated, he said to himself, maybe he’d have to wait to make a real band. In the meantime he just kept on practicing and practicing.

Morning broke hot and bad. The typical southwest Texas tradition of blistering summer heat was promised by the burning orange orb rising fast. Above it only sky, below, dusty desert tumble weeds quaking, waiting to break loose and begin their jagged journey to no where in the late afternoon.

Valentine, Texas, population 147, boasted exactly one significant distinction, its name. Punctuated by the existence of a United States Post Office, Valentine became a veritable hub of the Texas desert every February 14th. Folks from as far away as Chicago and as near as Marfa converged on this little wide spot in the road to celebrate Valentine’s Day which included a band and all the Lone Star beer one could drink.

Agnes was 15 in 1954 and itching to get out of Valentine any way, any how. The swelling crowds in town gave rise to hope of a life beyond the sepia-toned existence she daily endured.

“Momma, how many do you think are out there?”

Her mother looked out the window from the dishwater, “ A thousand?”

A thousand. That was a hard number for Agnes to get her mind around. A thousand.

“Listen Agnes. Stay away from all those strangers. Nothin’ good can come to a 15 year old girl from a mess like that. All that drinkin’ and loud music. You stay away, you understand?”

“Yes, momma.” She rolled her eyes and headed straight for her bedroom.

How was she ever going to escape her dead-end life in Valentine? Sighing, she opened her closet door and reached for her Mr. Potato Head box.